


The Opportune Moment

by CupofTia



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, One Shot, Post-Troubled Blood, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Troubled Blood Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupofTia/pseuds/CupofTia
Summary: My take on what happens the night of Robin's 30th.*SPOILERS FOR TROUBLED BLOOD AHEAD*
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 21
Kudos: 70





	The Opportune Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't want to spoil anything in the summary but this takes place exactly where Troubled Blood finishes, and follows Strike and Robin's night at The Ritz.
> 
> I know there are already some excellent fics of this out there and I'm sure there will be more, but I hope you enjoy this one, I've poured a lot of love into it!
> 
> I even managed to slightly reference Harry Potter, The Princess Bride, 1995 Pride & Prejudice and one of my favourite films of all time, Angus. (Plus Pirates of the Caribbean with my title.) Points to anyone who spots these!
> 
> Also hope you like the song choice, one of my favourites and I thought it really suited these two!
> 
> More notes at the end!

Strike and Robin’s walk to The Ritz passed by in a blur. Though normally comfortable enough in one another’s company to not have to talk, comfortable was not a word that sprang to mind for either of them at this very moment. Thankfully, the bustling London noise around them ensured there was no obvious awkwardness and both were thankful for the companionable silence that granted them an opportunity to digest their situation. Unaware of their shared struggle, each of them were desperately trying to process a tumult of thoughts and feelings as much as was possible whilst still maintaining a calm and collected exterior.

Behind the illusion of her relaxed smile, Robin was to put it frankly, losing her shit. Strike’s behaviour was so uncharacteristic Robin could scarcely believe it. He had just conceded that people can in fact change, but what had sparked such a sudden and dramatic change in him? She was astonished and couldn’t work out what had affected this transformation. Not for the first time that day, Robin’s thoughts wandered to their visit in Skegness and the relevance it had to her unexpected surprise that morning. In much the same way Robin had barely had time to blush at being called exceptional before Strike had carried on as normal then, she was still playing catch up now.  
  
So touched had she been by the thoughtfulness of the donkey balloon and the fact Strike had remembered this small detail, that she’d barely had time to consider the wider implications this small act had, especially when coupled with the pre-planned, hand written card, kiss and all. The kiss alone was enough to overwhelm her. She had stared at that kiss for more time than she would ever care to admit to, as though she could somehow will it off of the page and onto her lips if she stared long and hard enough.  
  
Having already failed to fully process all of those butterfly-inducing acts, Robin was entirely unprepared for the further curveball of the perfume shopping. And then, as if all of that wasn’t enough, Strike had announced that they going to be having champagne at The Ritz. Casual. Like you do. Totally normal for them. Champagne at The Ritz…what was happening?! And just to add insult to information-and-sensory-overload-injury, Strike had turned up in a new bloody suit wearing an aftershave that made walking in a straight line seem like a Herculean task every time she caught a whiff of it.  
  
Suffice to say, she was a little bit flustered.  
  
For Strike’s part, the half-excited, half-nervous anxiety he had been feeling all day had now transformed into full-blown terror. Once the surprise was over and the relief of having done a good job had washed over him, it occurred to Strike just how much opportunity lay before him in their evening plans, and just how much potential there was to screw it up. He had been so focused on remedying his previous wrongs when it came to getting Robin gifts and if he was honest with himself, focused on committing to the idea of their relationship moving up a level, he hadn’t acknowledged that tonight could lead to game over. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered the risks, god knows he had, it was just that now he was on that tightrope again, he realised how far he had to fall if he took a misstep. All or nothing suddenly felt all too real.  
  
Sitting at the bar of the decadent hotel now, Robin looked around, taking in her surroundings whilst Strike focused intently on a bowl of mints in front of her to avoid gawking at how incredible she looked in that dress. As they waited for their drinks, Strike reflected on the last time he walked this delicate tightrope. At least then, intense as the atmosphere had been through their whiskey-fuelled haze with only the sound of the traffic to disturb them and the lights off, the timing had felt right. Here, in The Ritz, surrounded by posh wankers, bright lights and a cacophony of sound; he felt entirely exposed; there was no atmosphere at all. Perhaps this has been a terrible idea. Or perhaps they just needed to be drunk again. Where was that champagne?  
  
Strike wondered for the umpteenth time what would have happened if Barclay hadn’t interrupted them that night. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. They were risky enough in their own right, and downright dangerous to dwell on when they were at a hotel, with Robin looking and smelling the way she did. Already feeling intoxicated, Strike hardly needed the champagne that was now set down in front of them.

He was however, immeasurably grateful to have an occupation for his hands. They were itching to run themselves through Robin’s gorgeous, golden red hair and in his effort to stop that happening, Strike grabbed his glass a little too quickly. He raised it to her in an effort to hide his edginess, unaware of the speed in which Robin had grabbed her own glass, and who likewise, was thankful to put something in her hands that wasn’t the lapels of Strike’s jacket.  
  
“Happy Birthday, Robin.” Strike toasted. Allowing himself to finally look at her now, he realised, just as he had that day in Vashti, how utterly fucked he was. Christ, she was beautiful.  
  
Blushing under the intensity of his gaze and praying her make-up would cover it, Robin smiled coyly and raised her own glass in return.

“Thanks, Strike. Thirty!” She sipped her champagne in an effort to rinse the word from her mouth. True, she was the best version of herself she’d even been, in the best place in her life, and happier than ever before, but still, who likes turning thirty?

“Yeah, thirty.” Strike replied, a wry smile forming at the corner of his lips, his eyes full of amusement. “Have you checked out any good retirement homes yet?”  
  
“Oi!” she laughed, smacking his arm lightly. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to leave her hand there.  
  
Ignoring the searing heat that her brief touch had left on him and vaguely fretting at the back of his mind about how he would cope with prolonged physical contact if things ever got that far, Strike couldn’t help but chuckle at the indignation on her face. He could never resist teasing her. He was keen though, to reassure her that thirty wasn’t a big deal, not only for her sake, but also because he was suddenly very conscious of the relevance this conversation had to their own situation.  
  
“It’s just a number you know.” He sipped his drink again, his throat becoming dry.  
  
“Yeah.” Robin conceded. “I suppose age isn’t important…like you said, just a number.”  
  
Cormoran paused in the motion of sipping his drink, the glass halfway to his lips. Was she too, thinking of their age gap? And if she was, was she trying to communicate to him that it didn’t bother her, by saying age wasn’t important? He watched her cautiously, trying to identify any signs that he should pursue this conversation. Should he broach the subject, was this the moment?  
  
Robin, completely oblivious to the fact her partner wanted to stay on the very subject she was now desperate to avoid for fear of giving herself away, groped desperately at the first association that came to mind amidst her rising panic. Almost choking on her drink in an effort to swallow and get the words out, she spurted,  
  
“Speaking of numbers, I got your text from your new one, what happened? Why have you have changed it?” It was a feeble transition, she knew. She hoped he didn’t notice her unease.  
  
He didn’t. He was too busy inwardly cursing himself that he hadn’t spoken sooner. They had been on track for a conversation about their relationship; there had been an opening, and now it was gone. He didn’t want to discuss or even think about Charlotte right now. And even if he had wanted to, he wasn’t sure he had the mental capacity. It was taking a considerable amount of brain-power already to keep his eyes fixed on Robin’s face and not the way her new necklace contrasted beautifully against her smooth, pale skin.

Then again, could this not be another opportunity, to make his intentions known, to tell her he was no longer interested in Charlotte? Cormoran wondered how much he should say, he didn’t want to scare her off. Maybe he could water it down, maybe he could find a casual way to say, ‘Charlotte’s toxicity made me realise how good you are for me and how amazing you make me feel’ or ‘I realised she isn’t the woman I love any more’ or ‘She was like a hurricane and you are like the sun.’ Then again, maybe not.  
  
He opted for a far gentler approach instead, easing into it, “I’ve decided I need to cut off ties with Charlotte. For good this time.”  
  
Feeling as though he’d just run a marathon, he watched Robin’s mouth form a perfect ‘O’ as she said the word, her eyes widening slightly. She was silent, apparently waiting for him to continue. Unaware of her racing heart, Strike continued to push his own to its limits. Throwing caution to the wind, he continued,  
  
“I have to make sure old doors are closed…” he paused, swallowing thickly and watching his finger nervously trace the stem of his glass, before he finished, looking up into her eyes once more, “…if I want new ones to open.”  
  
He stared at her, willing her to understand and praying that if she didn’t, or chose not to, he could still pass the comment off as a general remark.  
  
Robin stared back, her eyes wide. Did he mean what she think he meant? Was that what all of this was for? Opening new doors? Could he possibly mean, with her? It suddenly felt very hot in the bar. Robin felt a dizziness wash over her that had little to do with her empty champagne glass. She opened her mouth and closed it again, floundering. Her tongue suddenly felt entirely too big, causing the words that were struggling to escape to stumble as they came,  
  
“I…Strike…I mean…well…do you…”  
  
It was at that precise moment that the bartender came over to refill their glasses from the pre-bought bottle, ordered earlier. As Robin thanked him, desperate to avoid looking at Strike, the bartender cheerfully topped them up, ignorant to the murderous scowl Strike was aiming at him. The only tips he’ll be seeing will be the knuckles on my fist he thought savagely.  
  


* * *

  
The moment was completely and utterly ruined. With it’s absence came the certainty that often comes with self doubt, that they had each imagined it had been a moment at all. Bitterly sipping their champagne, Strike and Robin were in no way comforted by a drink that had negative connotations for each of them. For Strike many a disastrous occasion with Charlotte was brought to mind, for Robin her own disastrous wedding.  
  
Not wanting to appear ungrateful and desperate to fill the now tense silence, Robin said,  
  
“Thank you for the champagne.”   
  
“Tastes like crap doesn’t it?”  
  
“Yes” she said laughing loudly, relieved at the break in tension and delighted by his honesty. He always knew how to make her laugh, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s really nice champagne, as champagne goes, and I really appreciate it, but…”  
  
“But…?”  
  
“I’d rather have a beer.” She confessed, sheepishly.  
  
He could not stop the huge grin from spreading across his face anymore than he could stop the instant response from leaving his lips,  
  
“That’s my girl.”  
  
By some divine providence, a nearby group descended into raucous laughter at that exact moment, and Robin appeared not to have heard him.  
  
“Sorry?” she asked.  
  
I said, “Let’s give it a whirl”, he lied, reaching for a drinks menu and wincing, appalled at himself, as he hid behind it.

“I wonder what the chances are that they do Doom Bar?”  
  
“I think I saw it on the menu actually. Buy one get one free.” Robin replied, not missing a beat. Her expression was deadpan, but Cormoran could see the mischievous glint in her eye and it stirred far more feelings in him than just amusement.  
  
“Funny.”  
  
“I thought so.” she said, unable to suppress a cheeky grin now.  
  
She really needed to stop looking at him like that. So much for that lack of atmosphere.  
  
“We don’t have to stay here you know. I thought about booking a table but…”  
  
“You didn’t fancy spending a month’s wages on a portion that wouldn’t even fill up Wolfgang?”  
  
He laughed, glad of a reason other than ‘I didn’t want to scare you off by making this more obviously a date than it already is.’ Running with this excuse, he countered,

“Not that you’re not worth the money…”

“Strike it’s fine. I didn’t expect a dinner.” She wanted to make that point absolutely clear, lest he thought she had mistaken this for a date. Which it wasn't. Probably. “I am bloody starving though.” 

“Thank Christ, I thought I was going to have to scoff down all of those mints in a minute.” He grabbed one as he said this, glad of an excuse to do so. Just in case.

Laughing again, Robin asked, “Shall we get out of here? I hear there’s a lovely Indian on Denmark Street.”  
  
Strike was staring at her again, and she panicked, worried she’d said the wrong thing. Was it too obvious, going back to the office? She hadn’t wanted to suggest her place, for fear of sounding too forward. And the office seemed safe. Neutral. The fact that his place was a floor above it was simply a coincidence.  
  
Despite his determination to dismiss anything supernatural, Strike was suddenly wishing that he could read minds. The office. Did that mean Robin wanted to be away from her place? Or near to his? Did she want to remind him of their workplace, of the fact they were partners? Or did she want to continue where they'd left off that night with the whiskey? Maybe she just really liked that particular takeaway?! Christ. He’d solved some seriously difficult cases in his time, but this was a total mind fuck.  
  
Sure now that she needed to backtrack, Robin asked apprehensively,

“Unless you don’t want to?”

“No” Strike said slowly. “It’s good.”  
  
“Right then. Let’s go.” Robin was able to hide the flush of pleasure that had spread up her entire body as she climbed down from the bar stool. He really needed to stop saying ‘It’s good’ like that.  
  
As with their journey to The Ritz, they fell into silence once more. Only this time, in the taxi they’d decided to get to the office, there wasn’t much in the way of outside distraction. Robin gazed out of the window, forcing her eyes to focus on the passing buildings outside, and not on the ludicrously handsome man opposite her. She fiddled anxiously with her necklace, unconscious of the effect drawing attention to that area was having on her partner.  
  
Strike watched her movements, hypnotised, unable to stop his eyes from travelling further down her body, admiring the way her dress clung to every curve. He saw her bite her lip as if she were concentrating, and his stomach ached with an entirely different kind of hunger. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was perfect. Truly perfect. And whether it was due to the buzz of the champagne or the simple fact of this realisation, he finally decided that in this gamble, the ‘all’ far outweighed the ‘nothing.’  
  
When they reached the office, Robin went ahead to order the food and to discreetly allow Strike time to tackle the stairs at his own pace. As it happened, he barely felt the pain in his leg at this moment. His resolve firm now, he knew what he wanted, and he was going to go for it. There was no room left in his body for anything else.  
  
As he came through the door he saw Robin walking towards him with a bottle of whiskey in her hand. The bottle in fact.

“What dya reckon, shall we open this up again?”  
  
Was she just talking about the whiskey, he wondered?

“I think it’s about time we did.” he countered.  
  
Wondering if whiskey wasn’t simply a pretext for this conversation herself, Robin poured out two glasses for them, praying Strike wouldn’t be able to see her hands shaking. Glasses in hand, they toasted again and drank more quickly than was wise for a single malt. Robin, leaning back against her old desk that now belonged to Pat, began playing with her necklace once more. Strike leant against the arm of the sofa, mirroring her, rather than sitting down; he wanted to keep the opportunity to step closer open. Subconsciously, Robin had made the same decision.  
  
“Nice necklace.” He said gesturing towards it.  
  
“Oh, thanks,” Robin said, gripping it a bit too tightly this time. Cormoran watched as it suddenly dropped down straight into Robin’s cleavage. The necklace it seemed, couldn’t take any further strain. Cormoran knew how it felt.  
  
“Oh shit!” Robin exclaimed, absolutely mortified. She turned her back to Strike as she tried to fish the necklace out of her bra with as much dignity as she could muster.  
  
Cormoran had the decency to inspect the ceiling as though it were the Sistine Chapel until she’d succeeded and only allowed himself to throw furtive glances in her direction once she’d got to the point of putting the necklace back on.  
  
In her embarrassment, Robin’s hands were shaking more than ever, which did little to help with the fiddly clasp. She still had her back to Strike as she struggled, but she heard him take another step towards her and she froze in anticipation.  
  
“Allow me?” He said it as question, waiting for her permission before he got any closer.  
  
Her breath hitched in her throat. This seemed like a terrible idea. She would surely give herself away. But the temptation of having him so close was too hard to resist. And maybe. Just maybe, she hadn’t imagined that moment earlier? She glanced shyly at him over her shoulder, and tried to keep her breathing steady as she whispered,

“Alright then.”  
  
He took another step forwards, heart hammering in his chest, until he was stood right behind her. Reaching up to the back of her neck, he took the necklace clasp from her and with his own fumbling hands, gently pushed her hair aside. It was impossibly soft between his fingers and combined with the sight of her delicate, ivory skin underneath, he was forced to suppress a groan. He needed to get it together big time.  
  
He wasn’t the only one. Robin thought she had had sensory overload before, at just seeing him in his suit and smelling his aftershave. Turns out that was nothing. No, now, his scent entirely filled her nostrils. Now, she could feel the ghost of his breath on her neck. Now, he was close enough that she could feel his body heat and now, oh god, OH GOD, he was touching her hair. She couldn’t help it. An involuntary whimper escaped her lips.  
  
Losing his mind completely, Strike dropped the necklace as if it had burned him, and lots of things happened very quickly.  
  
“Oh Christ. Shit. Shiiiit!” Cormoran cursed, reaching down to retrieve the necklace at the exact same time as Robin, having heard the necklace drop said,  
  
“Oh Bugger” and bent down to reach it as well.  
  
Realising what the other was doing, they raised their heads in unison and smacked straight into each other. Strike went stumbling backwards into the sofa, Robin into the desk, crashing straight into Pat’s radio as she went, causing it to switch on and start blaring out obnoxious music.  
  
The tension now well and truly shattered, Robin, after reassuring Strike she was unhurt, recovered her necklace from the floor, resolving to go and put it on in the bathroom or possibly throw it out of the window.  
  
In the moment she wasn’t looking, Strike bit his fist in an act of unbearable frustration. Shoving his fist back down to his side and composing his face by the time she looked back up, he longingly watched her head to the bathroom, a pained expression on his face.  
  


* * *

  
Strike sank down onto the sofa, which groaned along with him, and buried his face in his hands. How many moments were going to be ruined tonight? If there was such a thing as fate then it wasn’t on his bloody side this evening.  
  
Robin returned from the bathroom, having cooled down her furiously flushed cheeks with cold water and decided that she wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this shit.  
  
“More whisky.” She said. It wasn’t a question.  
  
Cormoran laughed despite himself, cheered instantly by her presence. Things certainly weren’t going to plan, but at least he was still here, with her. Alone. With whisky. And music. Unfortunately, it was pop music that couldn’t have been less romantic if it tried.  
  
Seeing his nose wrinkle in disgust as he eyed the radio, Robin smiled fondly as she passed him his whiskey.

“Awful isn’t it? When we went out for my birthday last year, Ilsa and Vanessa tried to get me to dance to this. At least I think it was this song. They all sounded the same. It was hideous.”  
  
“Not a fan of dancing?”  
  
“I like dancing, just not in a crowded club surrounded by dickheads trying to grab me every five seconds.”  
  
Swallowing the violent rage that swelled inside him at this unfortunately explicit image, Strike responded,

“I’d like to see them try after seeing what happened to Morris.”  
  
Robin snorted, saying in between sips of whiskey,“Yeah well, I’m kind of a badass now aren’t I?” 

“Yes, you are.”  
  
Robin had been joking, but there was no hint of amusement in Strike’s eyes. He was dead serious. A new song had started whilst they’d been talking. Adele, Robin vaguely registered, as the words began to play out.  
  
 **\- You've been on my mind I grow fonder every day -**  
  
Listening to the lyrics and realising that here finally, was an appropriate song for the mood he was trying to create, Strike saw one final opportunity before him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take it. He downed the rest of his drink and locked eyes with her once more.

“We could dance now?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Robin was sure she’d misheard him. Her pulse quickened to a dangerous speed.

“I said…” Cormoran put down his glass, stood up, and began moving towards her, “…we could dance now?”   
  
_\- God only knows why it's taken me_  
 _So long to let my doubts go_  
 _You're the only one that I want -_  
  
Robin was dumbfounded. This couldn’t be real. Maybe she’d hit her head harder than she’d thought when they’d crashed into each other. But no, there he was, standing in front of her, his hand outstretched, the other in his pocket. He couldn’t look more suave if he tried.

“Dance? Here? Now? With you?” She babbled, completely beside herself.  
  
“I mean…if you want? Champion dancer me.” Despite the easy joke and smile tugging at the corner of his lips, she thought she could see fear in his eyes. Though perhaps she was projecting.

 _\- I don't know why I'm scared  
I've been here before  
Every feeling, every word  
I've imagined it all -_  
  
“Okay.” Robin breathed out shakily, putting down her glass and taking his hand. She allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her back slightly until they had enough space. Her other hand came to rest on his broad shoulder whilst the hand in his pocket came to rest on her waist. Both let out breaths they didn’t realise they’d been holding as they closed their eyes and melted into one another, fitting together as though by design. They were thankful for the music, sure that their thundering hearts would be heard otherwise.  
  
 _\- You'll never know if you never try_  
 _To forget your past and simply be mine_  
 _I dare you to let me be your, your one and only -_  
  
As they swayed gently together to the music, Cormoran felt dizzy with elation. This was it. This was his moment. It was going to happen. He savoured every sensation of the dance, the feel of her head resting perfectly against his chest, her hair tickling his chin, her hand grasped in his, the feel of her waist beneath his fingers. It was sublime. But he knew he couldn't wait any longer. This was his chance. It was time to jump.  
  
 _-Will I ever know how it feels to hold you close_  
 _And have you tell me_  
 _Whichever road I choose, you'll go? -_  
  
Taking half a step backwards, Cormoran reached over to switch the radio off and shifted their position so that he could grasp both of Robin's hands in his own. Looking deeply into her eyes, he braced himself, trying to form the words he was so desperate to say,  
  
“Robin…fuck it...this is hard…the thing is...Robin...I...”  
  
The phone on Pat’s desk began to ring.  
  
Robin started to say, “That…” before Srike’s bellow interrupted her.  
  
“NOPE!” he yelled reaching down and yanking the phone line from the wall.  
  
Robin stared at him, astounded.  
  
He turned back towards her and pulled her close, “Robin, I’m sorry, but whoever it is can fuck off, no more interruptions. This is our moment, dammit!”  
  
And with that, unable to adequately put what he longed to say into words, he pulled her towards him into a blazing, all-consuming kiss. His hands cupping each side of her face firmly and somehow tenderly at the same time, he kissed her as if his life depended on it, as though her lips were the very air he needed to breathe.   
  
Stopping himself after only a few seconds, worried he would lose control, Strike pulled back and Robin stumbled slightly, her lips chasing his for a moment before she realised the kiss was over. He looked down at her, his thumbs gently caressing her now flushed cheeks. There was a mask of shock on her face, her lips parted and now slightly swollen, her eyes fluttering open as she struggled to regain her composure.  
  
“…will be our takeaway”, she finished, dazedly, gazing up at him.  
  
And then unable to stop themselves, in perfect synchrony, they both broke into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, before closing what was left of the distance between them once more.  
  
They decided the delivery driver could leave their food outside, it’d have to wait. They had waited long enough.  
  


* * *

  
BONUS  
  
As they lay in bed upstairs some hours later, Robin resting her head on Cormoran’s bare chest, playing with the curls there, Strike stroking her shoulder with one hand and her hair with the other, Robin said,  
  
“It all makes sense now.”  
  
“Hhm, what does?” he asked, lightly kissing her forehead.  
  
“All those women.” She raised her head to look at him, grinning. “You’re a master of seduction, Cormoran Strike.”  
  
He snorted but she continued, “You are! I didn’t stand a chance. Bit unfair really.” She pouted mockingly.  
  
Playing along, he said, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that.”  
  
“Hhhm, yeah, you look sorry.” she said, beaming now as she prodded the smirk forming at the corner of his lips,“But it’s alright, I can think of a way you can make it up to me”  
  
“Yeah?” He asked roguishly, one eyebrow raised in suggestion.  
  
“Yeah.” She said, biting her lip to stop herself from giggling now, “You can go and fetch me that takeaway.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the references to BBC Strike too, which included, everyone's new favourite "No, it's good", Strike staring at the ceiling awkwardly, and the way he says "Shit, Shiiiit" like when he hurts his leg looking over the gate in The Silkworm, I just love the way he says it! Plus these two are now forever Tom Burke and Holliday Grainger in my head <3
> 
> Kudos and comments always welcome, they make me feel fuzzy :)
> 
> P.S. I have already started work on a second fic, a what if Barclay hadn't interrupted in chapter 58, and that one will feature a lot more detail on the kissing front. *fans self at mere thought*


End file.
